


All My Friends Are Here

by editingatwork



Series: Any Which Way [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon-typical Alcohol Consumption, Chirping, Explicit Consent, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Whipped Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 22:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8771494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editingatwork/pseuds/editingatwork
Summary: Four hockey players, a lot of beer, and a can of whipped cream.





	

"He so little," Tater is saying. "What is this, boyfriend for ants?"

Jack frowns in confusion but Eric dissolves into giggles and falls into Tater's side.

Kent slaps a hand over his face. "God, stop, you're embarrassing me. They're going to think I never take you anywhere."

Jack's still frowning. "This is a reference I'm missing, isn't it?"

Eric takes pity on him. "Zoolander. It's a movie."

"Oh. I saw that. I just didn't recognize the line."

Kent leans out of the easy chair he's parked in to punch Jack's arm. "You saw that with _me_." It makes Kent warm when Jack smiles at him. God, he can't believe Jack's friendship is something he can have now.

Jack says, "I think we were a little drunk, then."

"You're a little drunk now," Kent argues, and gestures clumsily to the empty beer bottles covering the coffee table in Jack's living room. There’s a half-eaten banana cream pie in the middle somewhere, along with discarded plates smeared with whipped cream and crumbs. Even through the beer, Ken can still taste the sweetness in the back of his throat. It was such a good pie _._

Jack replies, "So are you. After what, three?"

"Seven. Stop calling me a lightweight."

From the couch—and under Tater's arm—Eric says, "Well, I am barely even tipsy, and I've had _eight_."

Kent snorts, and Tater outright laughs. "You have pink in cheeks and lose balance," Tater says. "Thinking you are maybe little drunk, _kotyenok_."

Eric wiggles to turn himself sideways and puts a finger in Tater's face. "Oh, no, none of that. Don't think I don't know what that means, mister."

Jack asks, "Why, what does it mean?"

Tater answers. "Is like call someone 'kitten.' Because your boyfriend small and fierce, Zimmboni."

"Jack Zimmerman, you stop laughing!"

"I like it," Jack says. "Tater, can I borrow it?"

" _Kotyenok_?"

Jack looks at Eric and says, "Yeah, my little _kotyenok_."

"Oh my god." Eric buries his blushing face in his hands, but he's laughing. "You're both terrible."

“That’s not as bad as the name he’s got for me,” Kent says, and immediately regrets it when three sets of eyes turn to him.

“Really?” Jack asks, and he’s smirking. “What’s he call you?”

“Alexei, _no._ ”

There’s a shit-eating grin on Tater’s face and no escape for Kent. “Kenny is _golubka_.”

Jack leans off his chair to grab another beer. “What’s it mean?”

“Is old-fashioned,” Tater replies. “Means ‘dove.’”

Now it’s Kent’s turn to bury his face in his hands. He can’t tell if his face is hot from embarrassment or all the beer. Probably both.

Eric sighs. “Oh, that’s just the sweetest. Tater, you’re the sweetest.”

“Thank you!” Even though Kent’s still hiding in his hands, he can hear the beaming smile on Tater’s face. “I’m think so too. What about Zimmboni, is he having special name for you?”

That gets Kent’s head up and his eyes on Jack, a grin already growing. “Yeah, Jack, you got any special names for Eric?”

Jack is blushing already. He doesn’t look embarrassed, though, his smile is too soft for that. “ _Mon chou_.”

That sends Kent into a laughing fit, with Tater calling, “What, what is mean?”

“It means the way to Jack’s heart is definitely through his stomach,” Kent snickers. Jack gets a throw pillow off the floor and tries to smack Kent with it, but he’s had as much beer as the rest of them and his aim sucks. He smacks the armrest instead and it just makes Kent laugh harder. Meanwhile, Tater turns to Eric for a translation.

“What is _chou_?”

Eric giggles. “ _Un chou à la crème_ is a French puff pastry.”

Tater laughs again, which makes Eric laugh. Eric hides his face in Tater’s shirt as he tries to control himself.

Jack is trying to look annoyed with them but he clearly can’t, if the way he’s smiling at Eric is any indication. Kent likes seeing that look on Jack’s face. He’s always wanted to be the cause of it but he’ll settle for being its witness. The only constant in his life besides hockey has been how long he’s wanted Jack to be really, truly happy.

Eventually, Eric and Tater have to come up for air. Tater says to Eric, “Zimmboni call you that because you are his small baker, or because you are sweet?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s a little of both. Tater, what are you—ack!” Eric squirms and shrieks with laughter as Tater leans in and licks a stripe up Eric’s cheek. “Lord, I cannot believe you just did that!” Eric exclaims, but he’s giggling too hard to look annoyed.

“Da, you are very sweet.”

“And _you_ are not getting away with that!” Eric reaches for the discarded banana cream pie and dips his finger into a mound of whipped cream on its top. Kent knows that even though Tater’s drunk, he could easily duck his face to escape the mess, but Tater just grins and lets Eric paint a messy stripe of cream on his nose. Some of it drips down his mouth and onto the sofa.

“Little off there, eh, Bits?” Jack chirps.

“You hush, Mr. Zimmermann.” Eric gets up on his knees and braces both hands on Tater’s shoulders for balance, and then licks the whipped cream off Tater’s nose. Tater is biting his lip to keep from laughing. Kent just lets it all go.

“You two are ridiculous.”

Tater slides off the couch.  “You next, _golubka_.”

“Huh? No!” Kent tries to get away but Tater’s already got him by the wrist and has a giant dollop of cream at the ready. It ends up all over Kent’s face. He starts to complain, and then promptly shuts up when Tater cups his face and goes to work licking it all up. Thoroughly. Especially around Kent’s mouth.

When Tater lets him go, Kent is flushed and dick is kinda hard.

Eric whistles, which brings Kent back to reality. It’s embarrassing as hell, but it’s all okay. It’s just Jack and Eric.

“Okay! Next up!” Kent declares, hopping out of his chair and grabbing the pie. It’s almost out of whipped cream but Kent scoops up the last tiny bit and deposits it on Tater’s cheek. Tater is grinning at him like he thinks he’s about to get some attention from Kent.

Which just makes it more hilarious to turn and point at Jack. “You’re up!”

Jack goes pink. “I. Oh.” He glances at Tater, who smiles and holds out a hand, and then Jack’s shaking his head and letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind, Tater.”

Tater winks at Kent and tips his face so Jack can reach. “Some jealousy good for him, I think.”

“Babe, you _wish_ ,” Kent starts to say, but he loses the English language the very moment Jack’s tongue touches Tater’s skin. Jack closes his eyes while he licks, because of course he does, Jack’s always one hundred percent focused on whatever he’s doing. Including, apparently, licking whipped cream off his teammate’s cheek.

Kent spares a glance at the couch. Eric is sitting quietly, one foot tucked under him, his lip caught between his teeth.

Well, good. Kent’s glad he’s not the only one a little blindsided by this. Jack’s big and Tater’s bigger, and on the ice they embody so much brute force and power, but right now they both look peaceful. Jack’s got one hand on Tater’s shoulder, and Tater has a hand on Jack’s side.

It’s over in thirty seconds but Kent would fucking swear it was a decade.

Eric falls back into the sofa cushions, fanning himself. “Y’all are gonna make me faint.”

Jack smiles and walks past Tater into the kitchen. Kent hears the fridge door open, then close. Jack comes back with a can of whipped cream.

“Holy shit.” Kent turns to Eric. “Holy shit, that’s store-bought—”

“Shitty bought it, he left it here when he went home, and if you tell anyone I used it on a pie, you will _die_ , Kent Parson!”

“Holy shit,” Kent says again, and then suddenly Jack is standing in front of him, spray can at the ready. “Oh, come on, Zimms, I just went!”

“Hold still.” And then Jack fucking Zimmermann makes a whipped-cream goatee down Kent’s chin.

“I hate you,” Kent tells him.

Tater says, “I think is cute. You grow next in November, yes?”

“I hate you both.”

“Bits? What do you think?”

Eric is holding up his phone. “I think this is going on Instagram.”

“I fucking hate you _all_ ,” Kent says, but lets himself be photographed. “Okay, done. Alexei, get this off me.”

“No, not Tater.” Jack’s smile spells nothing good. “Bits?”

Eric’s eyes go wide. “Me?”

“If that’s okay,” Jack amends, and that right there is another reason Jack and Kent never quite worked out: Kent was too full of bluster and pride to show when he needed a gentle hand, and Jack never had the patience to give him one. The time apart has been good for them. Jack’s more careful about others’ feelings, and Kent’s secure enough to ask for help when he needs it.

Jack’s words seem to melt Eric’s uncertainty. “It’s more than okay.” Eric gets off the couch and walks—wobbles, really—over to Kent.

Kent shifts back in the armchair and pats his legs, like Eric’s a dog. “Come on, boy, up!”

“You’re awful,” Eric says, but he clamors into the chair, one knee on either side of Kent’s right thigh. As he did with Tater, Eric puts his hands on Kent’s shoulders and leans in. His breath is warm and smells like beer and whipped cream. Kent feels his heart skip a beat and wonders why he feels nervous.

“You look as bad with a goatee as Jack did with that mustache,” Eric says, and tips his head to—oh. Oh, Jesus. Kent reminds himself to keep his hands on his thighs, not on Eric’s, because Eric’s tongue is soft on Kent’s skin and Eric’s mouth is _right there_ , just a literal breath from Kent’s. And when Eric finishes licking it up, he doesn’t move way, he sucks the sweetness from Kent’s chin. Kent can feel Eric’s mouth brushing his and he has definitely stopped breathing.

Eric pulls away and makes a face. “You need a shave.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Kent replies. His brain is fried. “Um.”

The sound of someone clapping nearly startles him out of his skin. His gaze jumps to Tater, standing just past Eric’s shoulder, and Kent is expecting—he doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Jealousy, maybe; suspicion, discomfort, anger. Literally any of the things a person would expect to see on their lover’s face after seeing them almost kiss someone else. But Tater doesn’t look upset. He looks…

Well, he looks the way he does when he’s holding Kent’s hands to the bed and Kent’s just gasped, “God, Alexei, harder!”

Tater looks the way he does right before he kisses Kent breathless and then slows down to a pace so torturous, Kent _aches_.

Kent is definitely hard in his pants.

“Jack,” Eric is saying, “hand me the whipped cream, please?”

Kent registers the rattle of Eric giving the can a quick shake. He sees the nozzle pointing at him again. “Aw, come on. Really?”

“Really,” Eric says. “Unless you don’t want to?”

Kent is many things, but he’s not chicken. “Nah, lay it on me.” He manages a cocky smile. Eric covers it in whipped cream.

Kent licks some off his lips and Eric smacks his shoulder. “Stop that!” Eric slides off the armchair and points to Kent’s mouth. “Jack, how about you?”

Kent would _swear_ he felt time freeze. Jack looks at him and Kent looks back, and he thinks they’re both having a moment of personal crisis.

Eric lays a hand on Jack’s arm. “If that’s okay,” he says quietly, and looks at Tater. “If that’s okay with everyone?”

Kent’s a little scared shitless right now. It is a goddamn relief when Tater doesn’t hesitate; he just looks right at him and asks, “Kent? Is okay?”

The insane thing is, yeah. It’s okay. Kent smiles as winningly as he can and crooks a finger at Jack.

Jack snorts and comes over. Kent is ready for it, right up to the moment Jack kneels at his feet and pulls him down with one hand around Kent’s nape. Kent looks into Jack’s beautiful blue eyes and feels his heart stop.

“You asked for it,” Jack says, and licks the cream off the side of Kent’s mouth.

Jesus Christ.

It’s just as he remembers and not a thing like it. Jack’s older, more sure. When his tongue drags along the crease of Kent’s lips, it’s not accidental, it’s deliberate. The brush of teeth isn’t clumsiness, it’s calculated. Jack takes his time getting all the whipped cream off and he’s not subtle about what he’s trying to do, here. Kent’s been on the receiving end of enough foreplay to know the difference between casual teasing and an actual seduction, and holy shit, this is not casual.

Kent doesn’t open his mouth at all. He’s afraid of what will happen if he does.

When Jack pulls back, lips pink and face red, Kent thinks he doesn’t look nearly as embarrassed as he should. God knows Kent feels like he’s about to catch fire. He is very uncomfortable in his pants right now. Shit, what if Jack is, too? Kent’s afraid to look.

“Gimme the can,” he says, holding his hand out blindly because he can’t look away from Jack. Eric delivers it. Kent nudges Jack’s leg. “Move, Zimms. Alexei, get over here.”

Tater smirks. “Something wrong with feet, Kenny, you can’t stand up?”

“You say that like I can’t see the stiffy in your pants from here,” Kent replies. Jack, of all people, is the one to laugh, and the fact that Jack seems so _okay_ with all of this is what makes Kent bold. “Actually, I changed my mind.” He pries himself out of the armchair and heads for Eric. “Give me your hand. Uh, please.”

“Why Mr. Parson, this is all so sudden,” Eric teases, but he offers his right hand for Kent. Eric’s got little hands. At least, he does in comparison to the people in this room. Kent’s seen Eric play, though, so he knows these hands are soft on a stick; and he’s seen Eric in the kitchen, firmly working a ball of dough. Eric’s hands are small but they’re ridiculously strong and precise.

Eric’s got sexy hands, to be completely fucking honest.

Kent sprays a strip of whipped cream into Eric’s palm, and then on all five fingers.

“Put up or shut up, babe.” Kent holds Eric’s hand out for Tater.

The sight of Alexei Mashkov, the human mountain, taking Eric Bittle’s hand and locking eyes with him while he sucks the whipped cream off each finger is going to be with Kent until he dies. Because Tater doesn’t just lick Eric’s fingers, he all but swallows them, lips working each digit as he withdraws. Kent knows full well what that mouth feels like on most parts of his body. He’s not at all surprised to see Eric biting his lip ‘til it’s red.

Jack’s mouth is open and he looks dumbstruck. Kent can’t tell if it’s because of Tater or Eric.

Tater finishes his little show with a big lick through the cream in Eric’s palm.

Eric gives a breathy sigh and shivers. Then he says, “Oh, you’ve got—” And before either Kent or Jack knows what’s happening, Eric’s pulling Tater in by his shirt and kissing the excess cream off his lips. With tongue. And teeth. Tater takes Eric by the shoulders, rubs his thumbs across Eric’s collarbone through his shirt collar. Eric makes a little noise and catches Tater’s top lip in his teeth.

“Holy shit,” Kent mutters to himself.

“Yeah,” Jack breathes, although Kent doesn’t think he knows he said that out loud.

Eric comes away grinning and licking his lips, Tater’s shirt still caught in his spit-slick fingers. “Kent’s always going on about you,” he says. “I can see what the fuss is all about.”

“I do not ‘go on,’” Kent protests weakly.

Tater hums. “Really? Zimmboni is keeping you secret. But I’m always see hickeys on him in locker room. Now I’m know why.”

“ _Mon chou_ is a biter,” Jack says.

Kent collapses laughing.

“Oh, really?” Tater snaps up the whipped cream can and comes at Jack, shaking it. He’s grinning mischievously. “Tilt head up and to side, Zimmboni.”

“I have this awful feeling you’re going to put it up my nose,” Jack says. He does as he’s told, though.

“Maybe next time, next away game we sharing a room,” Tater replies. “Do it in your sleep. But only one side, not want you suffocate.”

Kent recovers at lightning speed. “Babe, if you do that, you have _got_ to send me pictures.”

“Me too, please!”

Jack groans. “ _Et tu_ , Bits? Ah, that’s cold.”

Tater leaves a long line of white fluff up Jack’s jaw, stopping just short of his ear. “Eric, what you think? Is good spot?”

“Yeah, Bits.” Jack turns his smile on Eric. “What do you think?”

“I think you look like half a Santa Claus, sweetheart,” Eric says. “But I will say, it’s still better than the mustache.”

“It was for a good cause.” They’re grinning at each other, disgustingly sappy. “Well, if you don’t like it, why don’t you come get it off me?”

And Eric just goes. He doesn’t climb into the chair with Jack, like he did Kent. He leans in and Jack sits forward, meeting him halfway, and when Jack closes his eyes it’s not in concentration, but bliss. Eric cups Jack’s face with one hand to hold him steady and carefully eats the cream off his skin.

Kent can see, in Jack’s face, the moment when Eric puts his teeth to work. Jack’s hands fly up to hold Eric’s hips and Eric tilts his face even more to nip and kiss Jack’s jaw. By the time Eric reaches Jack’s ear, Jack is breathing shakily and his hands have migrated to Eric’s ass. Then Eric does something that makes Jack moan.

And that. That’s.

Tater is watching Kent watch them. Kent can see how hard Tater is in his slacks. Kent’s got one hand on his own thigh and he’s squeezing, wanting to move his hand upward and inward but keeping himself in check. He knows he’s not stupid-decisions-drunk but he’s still had seven beers and he is definitely inebriated. They’re all inebriated.

Tater raises an eyebrow at Kent. Glances at Jack and Eric—Jesus Christ, still going—and then back to Kent.

Kent blurts, “I’m fine with it if you are.”

Jack looks up from his daze to ask, “What?” and Eric turns, too.

They’re all looking at him, so he just talks. “This isn’t weird, right? That Eric and Alexei— That you and I— Look, twenty-four hours ago, I’d have told you that watching my boyfriend get macked on by my ex was not a kink that I had, but here I am.”

Jack meets his gaze. Blown pupils ringed in soft blue. Once upon a time, Kent would have died for those eyes to look at him again without apathy or disgust. “You liked that, eh?”

“Did _you_?”

Jack looks at Tater and shrugs bashfully. “Sure. Tater’s cute.”

“I’ll second that,” Eric adds. “And that mouth, lord. Kent, I don’t know how you survive.”

“He doesn’t.” Tater looks so smug that Kent wants to throw a pillow at him. “ _Golubka_ , I am fine. Are you fine?”

“Just ‘cause I am doesn’t mean I should be. Eric, come on. This is weird, right?”

Eric turns all the way around and sits on Jack’s knees. Jack wraps his arms around Eric’s waist, though the motion doesn’t strike Kent as proprietary, just instinctive. They’ve been dating for, what, two years? More? Kent’s only been with Tater for a handful of months. If anyone’s on shaky ground here, it’s him.

Eric says, “I think something’s only weird if you say it is. When I first moved into the Haus, everything was weird, but the day I graduated, I had such a long cry over movin’ out because that place had become my new ‘normal.’”

“Guys on your team got drunk and made out with each other?”

Eric and Jack trade looks.

“Shitty,” Jack says under his breath.

“Spin the Bottle,” Eric adds, long-suffering. “Mario Cart Truth-or-Dare. Derek Nurse.” A sigh. “That boy had no impulse control after he got into the tub juice.”

“Eh, Bits, that was kind of hilarious.”

“The first time, maybe.” Eric nudges Jack gently with his elbow and turns his attention back to Kent. “Jack and I, we talk. All the time. We’re solid. I trust that.” Jack gives him a little squeeze. “But let’s just say, when it comes to friendships, I think we’ve both gotten used to things being a little weird.”

Silence follows. Kent can tell, from the weight of it, that they’re all waiting on him.

He throws up his hands. “Fine. But I’m gonna need another beer.”

Tater hands him one, then gets one for himself. After taking a long drink, Tater snaps up the abandoned can of whipped cream and holds it up. “Who is next?”

“Ooh, give it here!” Eric exclaims. “Jack, honey, let me up.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Hm, maybe a little.” Eric smiles. “It’ll be fun. Now, Tater…” He looks Tater up and down. There is a considerable height difference. Kent can see Eric judging the distance with dismay and he has to gulp at his beer to hold back the snicker. At last, Eric says, “Could you, um, turn around? And squat down?”

Tater does.

“Lord,” Eric mutters.

“Tell to me the truth, _kotyenok._ How is my ass compare to Zimmboni’s?”

That sends Eric into fits. “That is a dangerous question, and impossible to answer. It’s like asking which is better, peach pie or pecan?”

“Peach,” Jack says, at the exact moment Kent says, “Pecan.”

“Pe-CAWN,” Eric corrects him.

“Tater, back me up, it’s PEE-can.”

“Bitty is one giving me pies, so I follow him. pe-CAWN.”

“Well now we know who’s getting all the pie,” Eric says. “Tater, hold still.”

No problem there; Tater’s a rock. So is his ass and so are his thighs. Kent thinks about the last time he fucked those thighs. Christ.

Tater’s hair is getting shaggy, but his t-shirt collar sits low on his neck. There’s a wide band of skin visible. It’s here, at the base of Tater’s nape, that Eric draws a little squiggle of cream. Some of it gets on the shirt and in Tater’s chestnut curls.

“Sorry, I made a mess.” Eric is clearly not sorry. “Jack, could you get that for me?”

Jack spares a glance in Kent’s direction as he gets up from the chair. “Sure. Tater, you can probably stand.”

“Fuckin’ waste of a gorgeous ass,” Kent says as Tater straightens.

“You don’t worry, Kenny, you see my ass as much you like, later.”

Jack gets up behind Tater and puts his hands on Tater’s hips. He goes in without hesitation, like before. Kent’s just as mesmerized now as he was then, although now he’s less bothered by the fact that he enjoys it. Jack’s shorter than Tater but not by much; his front fits perfectly along the length of Tater’s back, ass to hips and chest to spine. Tater ducks his head to give Jack more space, his big body settling into Jack’s ministrations like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Jack takes a lot longer this time. He licks up the cream and then sucks on Tater’s neck, even the places where Kent doesn’t think there ever was cream.

Tater’s nape is wet and pink when Jack finishes.

“My turn. Bits, come here. Sit on the couch.”

Eric does. Jack makes him push up his shirt and puts a dollop in Eric’s belly-button.

Kent almost snorts out his beer.

“Kent, he’s all yours.”

Kent puts his beer aside and goes to the couch. “You just made your boyfriend look like he’s got the worst case of belly-button lint, Zimms. You know that, right?”

Eric’s still holding his shirt up with one hand. He tugs Kent forward with the other. “Don’t laugh. Lick.” He’s got a devious grin on his face, and when he winks, Kent knows what to do. He drops to his knees and runs both hands up Eric’s thighs. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re still sexy.” Then he leans in and dips his tongue into the mess. It gets on his nose and cheeks but he doesn’t care. Eric’s stomach quivers as Kent strokes his abs with his tongue, and okay, Kent can definitely work with this. He laves at Eric’s skin, sucking gently, not hard enough to leave hickeys but enough so Eric can feel it. If the tension in Eric’s thighs and the little gasps he’s making are any indication, he does.

Kent comes away with a wet mouth and a sense of free-fall.

“Still not weird?” he asks.

Eric strips off his shirt and fumbles for the can where Jack left it on the couch. As Kent watches, light-headed with disbelief, Eric draws a line up his stomach and chest, right between his pecs and up to his collarbone.

“Fuck, yes,” Kent agrees, and dives back in. Eric is hot under his mouth and Kent can feel the stutter of his breath through the expanding and contracting of his lungs behind his ribs. When he licks his way to Eric’s chest, he thinks he can feel Eric’s heartbeat thumping under his tongue. Eric’s hands are both in Kent’s hair. Kent wants to make a sideways detour, get his mouth around Eric’s nipples, but he doesn’t quite dare. He’s just following Eric’s lead.

He reaches the end of the trail and looks up. Eric is panting, his skin flushed. He’s so gorgeous, Jesus, soft skin over hard hockey muscle, Kent’s never felt it on someone so small before. Kent keeps expecting delicacy and gets power instead.

Eric looks past Kent. Jack and Tater must still be watching. Whatever Eric sees—a nod, maybe? From Jack? From Tater? From both of them?—must be the approval he’s looking for, because Eric then looks back at Kent, opens his mouth, and…fills it with whipped cream.

Kent feels his own jaw drop. Then he’s lurching to his feet, straddling Eric’s lap, cupping Eric’s face, and kissing him. Eric tastes like store-bought pressurized whip and home-made banana cream pie. He tastes like beer. He tastes _amazing_ , Kent could get drunk on it. Kent’s painfully hard in his pants and Eric is too. Eric’s hands have moved to Kent’s ass and are squeezing like Kent’s a stubborn batch of dough. Kent rocks into him—

Pulls back.

“Wait. Wait, fuck.”

Eric’s mouth is red and his eyes glassy, but his gaze is clear. “What?”

Kent twists to look back at Tater, at Jack, both of whom are still standing in the middle of the room, just watching. They look how Kent feels, dazed and aroused, but without the tidal wave of confusion.

“Are you okay with this?” Kent manages. His voice sounds hoarse. “Is everyone actually okay with this? This is _way_ past a game.”

Jack shrugs, quite obviously struggling with words for a moment. “It’s you,” he says. “And it’s Bitty. I mean…it’s like you said, Bits, we’re solid. I trust that. But if you… want…”

Eric takes a breath. “If I do want, do you mind?”

Jack shakes his head.

Through all of this, Tater has been quiet. Nobody’s addressed him, so he’s probably just being polite and not interrupting, but still, that silence is slowly strangling the life out of Kent. Because while Eric and Jack have had years to fine-tune their relationship, Kent’s had barely half a year with Tater. And then half of _that_ time has been spent on opposite sides of the country. Kent likes Tater. God, he likes Tater a lot. He liked Tater back when Tater was just another Falconer skating next to Jack, another warm presence in Jack’s life for Kent to be jealous of.

Now Tater is a warm presence in Kent’s life. Tater Skypes him on roadies and chirps him about his cooking and kisses him like Kent is oxygen and Tater is desperate for air.

Kent can’t risk losing that.

“Alexei. Babe, are you—I know you said this was okay, but I mean. If it’s a choice, I choose you.” He feels fucking ridiculous, saying that while he’s still hard and sitting in Eric’s lap with Eric’s hands on his ass, but he needs Tater to know it. If he has to choose, he will.

Tater’s expression softens. He comes over to the couch and sits next to Eric’s knee. Gently he takes Kent’s hand in his and kisses the back of it. Then, after some consideration, he kisses Kent’s mouth, too. “I know. If you ask that I’m choose, is same. It’s you. But I’m not ask that you choose. Not if you don’t want.”

Kent knows he’s gaping. “You’d be okay with that. You’d just… share me.”

“Would you share me?”

“With _who_?”

Tater looks sideways at Eric. “You are very cute, _kotyenok.”_

Eric grins. “I have mentioned that I like your mouth, haven’t I?”

“I believe you mention.”

And to Kent’s utter astonishment, Tater kisses Eric.

When they pull away, Eric reaches past Kent and says, “Jack?”

Jack joins them on the couch. It’s getting to be a tight fit, with Eric and Kent’s knees on either side of him, Tater on the one side and Jack on the other.

Jack frowns at how little room he has between Eric and the armrest. “I’m going to need a bigger couch, if we’re going to do this again.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this _now_ ,” Kent says. “Jack, look. I just got you back. If this is going to screw that up, I won’t do it. You’re my best friend. Before anything else, you’re my best friend.”

Jack nods solemnly. “You’re my best friend, too. And I…I think that’s why this is okay. Or, maybe why I think it can be.” He hesitates. “Can I kiss you again?”

Kent chokes out a ‘yes’ and Jack does. It’s sweet. It’s miles away from the teeth-and-tongue affair that had come before. It tastes like a beginning. Kent shivers.

Tater puts a hand on the back of Kent’s neck and massages a vertebra with his thumb. “You want to finish, _golubka_?”

Kent looks at Eric, who smiles hopefully.

“Eh,” Kent says. “What else am I gonna do with this hard-on?”

Eric snorts. Then he pulls Kent against him while rolling his hips up, making Kent gasp.

“I can think of a few things.”

This time, when Kent kisses him, there’s no excuse of whipped cream. When he grinds down and feels Eric moan, it’s not guilt that rushes through him, just satisfaction and heat. He feels Tater’s hand riding his neck and he thinks Jack might have a hand over Eric’s on Kent’s ass. Kent stabs his tongue into Eric’s mouth, gets his fingers in Eric’s hair, devours him. He kisses and gasps and strains against Eric, getting all the friction he can.

He comes so hard he can barely breathe.

Eric is still clutching at him, still hard. “Please—”

Jack’s already reaching between them to undo Eric’s fly and shove his hand inside. He nuzzles Eric’s hair and jerks him hard and fast. Eric comes with one hand fisted in Jack’s shirt, the other squeezing fingerprint bruises into Kent’s thigh.

Tater wraps an arm around Kent’s shoulders, holding him up. Kent feels exhausted. He lets himself be steadied, and hums contentedly as Tater presses kisses into his hair. “Was beautiful,” Tater murmurs. “So beautiful, you and him. You smell so good right now, _golubka,_ always smell so good after.”

Kent’s heart stutters and his breath gets stuck in his chest. “Thanks.”

Eric, meanwhile, is smacking his lips and making a disgusted face. “Next time we go grocery shopping,” he says, “we’re buying whipping cream, so I can make real whipped cream. Because if I ever have to eat that much whipped cream again, I am damn well not going to eat that fake shit from a _can._ ”

Kent laughs and Tater chuckles. Jack smiles indulgently and kisses Eric’s cheek. “Anything you want, Bits,” he says, and his gaze goes to Tater and Kent. “Anything you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Completely unbeta'd. Probably full of plot (hahahaha, "plot") holes. Barely self-edited. I just wanted it done; I'll go back later and check for mistakes.
> 
> I myself am an ace woman who has never been in a polyamorous relationship, so if any of this rings as false or offensive to anyone who IS in a polyamorous relationship, please let me know. Obviously this was written for the purpose of playing around in the Check Please! sandbox, but fanworks don't exist in a vacuum, and I don't want to perpetuate incorrect views or assumptions about polyamorous relationships and those involved in them, even accidentally.
> 
> Please come cry with me about CP! on [tumblr](http://punmasterkentparson.tumblr.com/).


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